After Roger
by Capt Wolf
Summary: Roger dies, alternating POV, rated for language, R/R
1. Default Chapter

Rrrrring. Sighing, Joanne reached for the phone next to the bed, not wanting it to wake   
Maureen.  
"Hello?"  
"Joanne, it's Mark."  
"Why, pray tell, are you calling me at 1:30 in the morning?"  
"It's Roger. I - I think he may be . . . " The filmmaker's voice trembled.  
The lawyer didn't need to hear the end of that statement. "Have you called Mimi?"  
"I tried, but I kept getting a recording that says the phone's disconnected."  
Joanne snarled. "Okay. Maureen and I will be right over. Then I'll go to Mimi's. Give us ten   
minutes."  
"Alright. But hurry, Joanne."  
Hanging up, she reached over and shook Maureen. Groggy at first, Maureen perked up at   
Roger's name, said in the tone Joanne used for bad news.  
Ten minutes later, the couple pounded up the stairs to Mark and Roger's apartment. Leaving   
Maureen there, Joanne returned to the car and headed for Mimi's, dialing Collins' number on her cell   
phone at the same time.  
"Collins? It's Joanne. Mark thinks Roger's almost gone. I'm on my way to Mimi's because we   
can't get through on the phone."  
Collins growled. "I'll meet you at her place. If I find Benny there, I swear I'll kill him."  
They hung up. Joanne agreed with Collins. And Benny was just low enough to do it.  
Fifteen minutes and countless epithets later, Joanne swung her car into a parking space and   
sprinted to the elevator. The doors were barely open when she forced her way through and dashed   
down the hall to Mini's door.  
No one answered the breathless lawyer's persistant knocking. Deciding it was worth a shot,   
she tried the knob. Disturbingly, it swung open, giving Joanna an unobstructed view of Mimi's living   
room. Calling her friend's name, Joanne slowly entered the room. Pausing, she looked around.   
Nothing seemed out of place.  
"Mimi?" she called again, heading for the closed bedroom door. It, too, swung open at her   
touch. And what she saw shocked her beyond belief.  
Handcuffed to the bed in a spread eagle position was Mimi. To Joanne's eternal relief, she was   
alive.  
"Mimi, what the hell happened?" Joanne removed the gag before searching for some way to get   
the handcuffs off.  
"It was my old dealer. I've been clean for months, but he doesn't like that. So he broke in   
yesterday while I was in the shower. He said I was his best customer and there was no way he was   
letting me go. I resisted, so he left me here like this." The lawyer could hear the impending tears.   
"Joanne, I think me may have broken my rib. It hurts to breath."  
Finally finding a hammer and screwdriver, Joanne started attacking the bedposts. "I'll take you   
to the hospital, hun. But I think you'll wanna come with me to Roger's first." Working furiously, Joanne   
soon had Mimi free of the cuffs and helped her stand up.  
"What's wrong with Roger? Is he okay?" Slowly and painfully, they got out of the apartment   
and into the elevator.  
"Mark doesn't think he has much time left. Maureen's there." Just as she was about to mention   
Collins, the doors opened up, leaving them face to face with Collins himself.  
Not asking any questions, Collins carefully picked up his injured friend and carried her to   
Joanne's car. Placing her safely in the back seat, the computer genius hopped in the front seat. The   
lawyer threw the vehicle into reverse and they were on their way.  
Fifteen minutes, and three times as many epithets as before, later, Collins, Joanne, and Mimi   
arrived at Roger's door.  
"How is he?" Collins asked as Joanne got Mimi settled into a chair next to Roger.  
"He has an incredible fever and drifts in and out of consciousness." Maureen shook her head   
sadly. "He's done for. And between Mimi and Mark, the three of us have one hell of a task on our   
hands."  
Collins nodded. It was safe to say that keeping Roger's girlfriend and his life-long best friend   
sane after his untimely death was going to be difficult. The computer genius pondered his two friends'   
personalities.  
Mark was ultrasensative, though he pretended not to be. It didn't take much to hurt him, and   
when you did, he usually hid it. The young filmmaker was totally dependant on Roger for emotional   
support.  
Mimi was usually very independant. But it came to Roger, she was all about him. When they   
fought, which was fairly often, it was pretty awful. But when they got along, they were the picture of   
bliss. Mimi without Roger would be an awkward sight.  
Bringing himself back to the present, Collins joined the others at Roger's side. The songwriter   
was conscious at the moment, but Collins had a gut feeling that it'd be the last time that he was.  
Joanne, her arms wrapped around Maureen, watched as Mimi tried to keep herself together for   
Roger's sake. Mark cried openly, trembling with sobs he was barely suppressing. The lawyer   
motioned with her head for Collins to come closer.  
"Make sure that when this is over, you stay very close to Mark. He's likely to throw himself   
from the window as soon as he realizes that Roger's gone for good." Collins nodded.  
About ten minutes later, it was over. Maureen stood behind Mimi as she cried quietly. Both   
Joanne and Collins moved to stand next to Mark.  
Placing one hand on Mark's shoulder, Collins tried to comfort the filmmaker, who was quickly   
coming apart at the seams. Wrenching away, Mark turned and tried to leave, but Collins caught him in   
his powerful arms.  
"No, Mark. Don't run away, don't hide inside yourself. You hafta deal with this now or it'll eat   
you alive." He kept his grip despite Mark's constant struggling.  
The distraught filmmaker was totally losing. "Get your hands off, you fucking faggot!"  
Everyone froze. Collins blinked, torn between concentrating on Mark and reacting to his own   
pain at the insult.  
Releasing the smaller man, Collins turned away. "Fine. Joanne, Maureen, let me know when   
you schedule the funeral." Patting Mimi on the shoulder, he left, Mark kneeling on the floor, hysterical.  
In the wake Mark's explosion and Collins' departure, Maureen Joanne had their hands full   
dealing with Mimi and Mark, and didn't have time to worry about the hurt computer genius. Maureen   
stayed with Mimi, who simply cried without ceasing. That left Joanne with the task of controlling Mark.  
After he finally cried himself, he stayed where he was, staring at the floor in front of him.  
"Mark?" The lawyer carefully put one hand on the filmmaker's shoulder. "Mark, talk to me.   
We're still here for you." No matter how much she coaxed, he would not talk. She sighed. This was   
certain to be more challenging than any court case. 


	2. One Week Later

One Week Later  
What's been going through Mark's mind since Roger died?  
Disclaimer: the 1st paragraph is a play on voice mail # 1. i know it doesn't fit perfectly, but even still. it's not   
mine, it's jonathan's.  
  
  
"That was a very loud beep. I don't even know if this is working, Mark. Mark, are you there, are   
you screening your calls? It's Mom. We wanted to call and say we heard about Roger. Cindy and the kids   
are here, send their prayers. Oh, I hope you like the flowers. Just don't forget to water them every other   
day. We're sorry to hear you lost your best friend; it really is too bad. So let us know if you need cash; I'm   
sure that we could spare some. Love, Mom."  
Mark stood staring out of the window, the answering machine on the table next to him. The   
bereaved filmmaker hadn't said a word since Roger died and he'd called Collins a faggot.  
I probably shouldn't have done that. But, damn it, he doesn't understand, none of them do. They   
think I was only interested in him as a friend. They don't know the truth.  
Mark had never revealed his true feelings for Roger to anyone. They all thought he was straight,   
especially since he dated Maureen. Irony of ironies, that we should both turn out to be gay. Only in New   
York City...  
Despite offers from the others, Mark had elected to stay in the apartment he had shared with Roger   
for so long. He didn't want to forget about him. Not that I ever could. But still, I think I'd rather be   
surrounded by memories, than live with someone who took me in out of pity.  
The funeral had been beautiful, the best that Joanne and Benny could put together. Mimi had cried   
from the minute she walked in the door, till long after they left the church. They had chosen to use the same   
church they had for Angel's funeral service. And they had all agreed that the two friends should be buried   
together.   
"We'll put Roger to Angel's left. I want the right hand lot for myself when the time comes." Collins   
had been just as tearful as the rest, especially knowing that one day he, too, would be taken away from his   
friends.  
The real question is, who will go first, Mimi or Collins?  
That was what everyone was thinking, though no one ever voiced it. They'd lost two dear friends   
to the spectre of AIDS, first Angel, now Roger. Mimi and Collins were both positive. When they thought   
no one was paying attention, they took their ADT almost as if they were addicted.  
Funny part is, I'm surprised they don't stop taking it. I'm sure they both yearn to be with their   
beloved significant others.   
And admit it, Mark. There've been countless times when you wanted to follow Roger to the Great   
Beyond. He was your beloved, too, even if they don't realize it.  
Sighing, Mark moved away from the window, even though the pavement ten stories below looked   
incredibly inviting. Maureen was performing in the lot again tonight, this time for animal rights or some   
such thing. The difference this time was that there were rumors that some theatre recruitment agents would   
be stopping by to take a look. Mark had agreed to go to the show, even though he would've rather stayed   
home and looked through Roger's journals some more. After the show, they were all going to the Life Cafe.  
Though, if they expect an improptu salon tonight, it's up to one of them to get it going. Because I   
sure as hell am not in the mood to sing and dance on tables.  
The depressed filmmaker put a jacket on and headed for the lot. There were already plenty of   
people there. Behind the makeshift stage, he saw Joanne's car, the trunk open as they unloaded the   
equipment. Deciding he may as well "say" hello, he made his way through the growing crowd till he found   
the couple trying to lift a speaker out of the trunk. Gesturing for them to move away, Mark lifted the speaker   
out of the trunk and onto the stand they'd already set for it.   
"Thanks, Mark. I was this close to dropping that thing on my foot." Joanne patted him on the   
back. To onlookers, it would've looked like just a friendly gesture. But between the two of them, it was a   
show of sympathy and support.   
Joanne is the only one who never pressures me to talk. Somehow, she seems to understand that   
without Roger, there simply isn't anything for me to say. All the talking I need to do is doen with my   
camera, and gestures take care of everyday things.   
Huh. I wonder if she understands because that's how she'd feel without Maureen. Interesting   
thought, that.  
"Though next time, make some noise when you come up behind me. Even if it hadn't been so   
heavy, I probably would've dropped the damn thing out of fright. You go around without talking, and it's   
like being friends with a ghost." Maureen stuck her head back into the trunk to find the microphone.  
Joanne leaned close to Mark and whispered, "Don't pay any attention to her. She doesn't know   
how to deal with Roger's death any better than the rest of us. She hides it by making fun of you, and me,   
and Collins, and Mimi. It's the only way she knows how. She did the same thing after Angel died."  
Mark just nodded. Angel had been the first of them to succumb to AIDS. The funeral had been on   
Halloween. What a day for a funeral. All Saint's Eve. I wonder who's idea that was.  
Soon enough the stage was ready. Joanne and Mark stood near the stage and watched. Partway   
through the second song, Mark tapped Joanne on the shoulder and pointed to a man in a suit, who readily   
stood out amongst the frugally dressed regular patrons of Maureen's shows.  
"Wow. That must be one of those recruiters. I hope they see how good she really is. It'd be a   
dream come true for her to act in a real theatre." Joanne and Mark both crossed their fingers.  
  
After the show, the three friends walked to the Life Cafe for a celebration.   
"Here's to me!" Maureen exclaimed, standing on a table and already roaring drunk after half an   
hour in the Cafe.  
Joanne shook her head. "Hey Mark, could you come outside with me for a minute?"  
Mark nodded. Lovely. I wonder what now.  
The lawyer and the filmmaker went to stand outside the little cafe that had housed their little   
gatherings for as long as anyone could remember.  
"Mark, I know Roger's death has been really hard on you, but I hafta say something about that day   
anyway. It's about Collins. I know he seems really strong, and the kind of guy who just lets things go,   
especially when it wasn't really meant. But, that day, when you called him a, and I quote, 'fucking faggot,"   
you really cut him deep. He didn't leave because he didn't care about you or Roger, he left because he was   
hurt by you calling him that. I've been talking to him about it." Joanne was obviously nervous. She wasn't   
sure what Mark would do with her suggestion. "Mark, I think you should come with me to see him   
tomorrow. Let him know that you didn't mean what you said, maybe even apologize."  
Mark blinked. He'd nearly forgotten about that incident. Oh God. I really did say that, didn't I?   
Shit, I didn't mean it; my best friend and the love of my life had just died in front of me, I didn't mean it.   
She's right. I hafta go and explain.  
To Joanne's apparant surprise, he nodded. I only hope he'll forgive me. 


End file.
